


The Details of a Particular Friendship

by chaineddove



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/F, F/M, Friends With Benefits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-03
Updated: 2012-03-03
Packaged: 2017-11-01 00:56:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaineddove/pseuds/chaineddove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had reasons for their kisses and their caresses, and perhaps they weren’t the right sorts of reasons, but they weren’t uncommon ones and the two of them were not unhappy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Details of a Particular Friendship

**Author's Note:**

> An unpopular take on a popular pairing, anyone? Yoruichi, Urahara, their complicated friendship with benefits, the never-quite-mentioned shadow of Soi Fong and decisions that cannot be unmade, and the realization that things are could be worse, considering.
> 
> The shift from past to present tense is intentional. Not sure how well it works; you'll have to tell me.

She kissed him because he was there and so was she, because they were winded from a game of flash tag, because their hearts were racing, because he was smiling, because the sky was blue and smelled of summer. He kissed her for a dozen reasons: because she was so close, because there was laughter in her eyes, because her skin was warm against his, because she was a pretty girl and he was a healthy young male. They had reasons for their kisses and their caresses, and perhaps they weren’t the right sorts of reasons, but they weren’t uncommon ones and the two of them were not unhappy.

She always made him feel a little outclassed, even when she was being particularly crass, but she understood him implicitly and pushed at the limits of his mind, his speed, his skills. He made her feel protective and often exasperated her, but with him she also felt as though she could do whatever she liked and never worry about asking for forgiveness. They were good together, in a way two who are more similar than not are good together; they could chase each other breathless and test mad theories far away from the critical eyes of authority, and they could come together like this – eye to eye and mouth to mouth and mind to mind but not necessarily heart to heart.

Although he loved her and would have gladly put his life on the line for her, he had never been in love with her. There had always been something wild about her – for all her pedigree, she was a stray under the polish, with shrewd eyes, a mind geared towards survival, and an impetuous streak which often defied logic. She was an excellent lover and a better friend – he would lie in her arms, his breathing easy, and talk of things that would make most women wince: battles, destructive magic, theories on Hollows and humans and Shinigami and how they might not, perhaps, be so incompatible as they had been taught. Because she never judged him for thinking radically, he afforded her the same favor.

Although she loved him too, she had never been in love with him, either. He was, to her, something of a curious younger brother whose progress she watched with amusement and no small amount of pride. She enjoyed using her influence to give him opportunities to challenge himself, and she enjoyed the way he inadvertently ended up challenging her. She had never been one to bow easily to tradition, no matter her station, and it was refreshing to know someone more than willing to chase her to breathlessness and meet her blow for blow without asking any questions or making any assumptions. She had kissed him because she intended to take him to bed, and he had come along for the ride more than willingly; she though the incident had left them both quite satisfied and eager to repeat the experience. She served as his sounding board and he served as her partner in crime and things were good, at their edge of the law and reason.

They talked about everything except the way her eyes softened around only one person, the way her laugh became kinder, the way everything about her gentled. It wasn’t a secret, exactly, and of course he knew, and she knew that he knew, but they didn’t discuss it, because what was there to say, really? Later, when they both became outcasts, she would tell him, “I couldn’t, you know. I would have fucked it up,” but at the time it was just implicitly understood that things were simply this way. She wasn’t unhappy, and he wasn’t worried.

***

“I wonder,” he told her, lying on his back in her quarters, looking at the moon, “I wonder. A Hollow’s strength comes in part from its lack of sanity. It doesn’t know fear, at least not the way we know fear. It thinks it is invincible. It isn’t afraid of death.” He lifted his hand to block the bright white light coming through the window, stared at its dark outline. “But I wonder. Is there a way to imitate that without a complete loss of sanity? Imagine what that might be like.”

“I’m imagining,” she told him, stretching. “I’m imagining Zaraki Kenpachi. Which is not the best thing to be imagining before trying to sleep. Or are you planning on keeping me up all night?”

He laughed, as she intended him to. “You know what I mean. The power. What if there was some way…”

“You’re walking on boggy ground, you know,” she told him, rolling over on top of him, her eyes golden in the darkness.

“At least it isn’t crowded,” he replied easily, his hands stroking over her back.

“As long as you know,” she shrugged. “It’s more fun if you don’t play it safe, if you’re going to play.” She smiled in the darkness, wiggled in a suggestive manner. “Are you?” He looked up at her and she clarified, “Going to play?”

***

Years later, when they are almost done adjusting to being outcasts, strays with no sense of purpose, they are still good together, in the way of people who have known each other a long time and worn away the sharp edges to fit against each other with comfort. They can sit together on his porch, her small, furry body curled up on his lap, and they can still talk about everything and know they will find a sympathetic ear (and in her case, a hand to stroke said ear, which is really rather nice when one has spent a handful of years being a cat).

He has figured out his answers – the ones that matter, anyway – and she has learned to tread carefully where she would have forced her way through, before. That is when he asks for the first time, about her choices and why she made them, about the things she left behind, about her regrets. He gets the warning prick of claws in his thigh. “If you’re implying for one second that I didn’t do exactly as I pleased, I’ll be glad to remind you that I can still kick your ass.”

Maybe, he thinks, maybe she can. But they have both changed since the last time he chased her, nearly matching her step for step. He has found his answers – he may not like them, but at least he knows them – and she has learned restraint. Maybe she can’t. Maybe someday they’ll find out. Hopefully they never do. He would rather their scrapping stayed in the past, under a blue summer sky, when things were a great deal simpler.

“I never do anything I don’t _choose_ to do,” she stresses. “I thought about it, maybe. I couldn’t, you know. I would have fucked it up.”

“You might have had fun trying,” he teases, and she looks up at him. Though she has changed her form, her eyes are still yellow and piercing. He can still read her expression under fur and whiskers, and he knows she doesn’t appreciate being prodded.

“I had fun,” she replies. “With you.”

“I think I’m hurt. What about my poor, stolen innocence? Weren’t you worried about fucking _me_ up?”

She chuckles. “No. You didn’t need my help.”

“I suppose I have to concede that you have a point.” He strokes his hand over her fur.

She pauses, then tells him, her voice serious: “I didn’t figure there was any point in messing with a good thing. I never gambled quite as hard as you.” She arches her back in a stretch, and he knows she is shrugging off the gravity of the moment. “Always could run faster, though.”

“Things catch up eventually.”

He gets another claw in the thigh and she hops from his lap to stalk across the porch. “Not if you run fast enough.”

***

Destruction doesn’t bother her; neither do errors, even when they are almost fatal. “It worked out. I don’t cry over spilt milk,” she tells him airily.

“Especially not if you can lap it off the floor, anyway,” he teases.

She sighs. “You know what I mean. No point looking back,” she says. “You trip.”

“I don’t suppose you would ever be so undignified,” he shrugs. “You don’t like falling.”

“I land on my feet.”

“So far,” he agrees.

“I wish you would shut up,” she tells him. “No, really, I wish you would. What’s done is done. Why bother?”

“I suppose I am taking my role of perverted old man very seriously,” he tells her, and adjusts his hat. She reaches out, lightning fast, and knocks it from his head. “Perhaps I should write a memoir.”

Suddenly, his lap is full of snickering female, and his eyes light with interest as her hands meander down his chest. “Not _too_ old, apparently,” she tells him with a low laugh.

He puts his arms around her, comfortable and familiar. “I hope I never get _that_ old.”

***

They hold on to each other now because in a way they are all the other has left of a life thrown away, but they both know the day will come when they will let go. If they survive long enough to get to that point, they will walk away with smiles on their faces and get together over sake and old memories every dozen years or so, and they may even fall into bed again, or they may not – either way, it won’t change a thing. They will go their separate ways not because of fate or Soul Society politics – they will simply find something more important to protect.

Someday, perhaps, she will stop lying to herself. Someday, perhaps, she will allow herself to gamble with something truly important. When that day comes, if she hesitates to take the first step, he will push her gently from behind. He will miss her, a little, at least for awhile, and then he will not.

Someday, perhaps, he will end his battle with his inner demons. Someday, perhaps, he will remember what it means to be truly serious about something. When that day comes, she will stand with him, shoulder to shoulder or back to back, even if no one else does. But at the end of the day, it will not be her he is thinking about, and the idea doesn’t cause her unhappiness or even discomfort.

But for now, it is all right this way, and they are still good together, the way they were under a summer sky too many years ago. The sky now is gray and the air is cold on their skin, but she is not ready and he is not eager, so she can put her head on his shoulder and he can put his arm around her waist and they can take a break from the rest of the world, at least for a little while. “It will be all right,” he tells her, because they both need to hear it.

“Or if it isn’t, at least we’ll go out with a bang,” she replies.

“Pessimist,” he accuses.

“That’s your role,” she tells him. They sit another few moments and she says, “It will be all right.”

“It’s fine, for now.” They smile.


End file.
